


Law of Contagion

by Elske



Category: Project Blue Book (TV)
Genre: 1980s AU, F/F, F/M, Gen, Joel is important, M/M, Modern AU, Psychic Abilities, Psychometry, Stranger Things AU, Telepathy, aliens are real, talking to aliens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 10:00:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18163724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elske/pseuds/Elske
Summary: Modern/1980s AU, Stranger Things inspired. College professor Allen Hynek signs up to take part in a research study, never imagining the ripple effect of the consequences: inheritance of abilities that all his studies in science could never explain (to say nothing about his son).





	Law of Contagion

(Northeast Ohio, 1972)

Allen remembers getting out of the van and walking into the waiting area of the bus depot: and, if he concentrates really hard, he can remember the last time he was in that bus depot, gathered together with nine others, waiting to get into a van. He wanted to go, he thinks, he was —excited to go, maybe? But it’s blurry. Everything in his brain is blurry. 

He should be more worried about that, he thinks. Missing time like this: it isn’t normal, is it? But then, he remembers another thing. Sitting in the van, and a man -a scientist, in a powder blue lab coat! - handing around little cartons of orange juice. Of course. How could he have forgotten the orange juice? It was so sweet and so tart and so cold, and he’d been so thirsty, and he’d thought nothing in his whole life had tasted better than that juice. And, something more, something from when he’d been drinking it: that scientist, apologizing to all of them, because they’d been kept awake for two days for the last of the tests. A gentle reminder with the apology, that sometimes things feel fuzzy when you’re sleep-deprived, and a promise that everything would feel better in the morning.

And an envelope. Allen reaches into his coat pocket and takes out the envelope. Inside it is a check made out in his name. Of course! His check! Half the reason he’d volunteered to be in the study in the first place: because being a college professor didn’t make you wealthy, because his new wife deserved better than a dingy apartment near campus.

(There was another reason he’d volunteered. He suddenly yearns to know the reason.)

There’s another smaller envelope next to the check, and he pulls that one open, shakes the contents into the palm of his hand. A small dark blue tablet falls from the envelope, and its glossy surface seems to almost sparkle in the dimly lit room. A pill. Did they tell him about the pill?

Yes. Yes, that same scientist held one up, right after he’d distributed the orange juice and the envelopes. Take this when you get home, he’d said, take this when you’re home, just to be sure you’ll sleep tonight, you don’t want another sleepless night! And he’d laughed and Allen laughed and the eight other passengers in the van laughed too as they stowed their envelopes in their pockets and their purses.

Eight? Eight. Five women, four other men, one scientist. Which is strange, because Allen thought there were ten of them in the study, but he must have been wrong. 

The envelope crinkles when he puts it back in his pocket. He stifles a yawn, looks at the clock, and thinks that even though that pill looks undeniably delicious, he’s probably not going to need it. He’s likely to just fall asleep in the car on the way home.

He is startled by the sound of cellophane crinkling, and he turns to look at a young woman fumbling with a packet of cigarettes. She barely looks old enough to smoke them, he thinks: her blue eyes are shadowed, her blonde hair has inches of dark roots showing, her nail polish is chipped. He thinks he recognizes her from the study —why else would she be here in this place, at this time?

The young woman’s cigarettes fall from her hands, tumble across the dirty linoleum floor, and she swears under her breath.

“I got it,” says Allen, and he reaches for the packet. And it’s strange - perhaps he really does need sleep? Because he swears he remembers seeing the girl and the cigarettes before? Her hair looked freshly dyed and neatly coiffed, but her hands shook as she opened the package, and a cut on her cheek gleamed with fresh blood. Did it happen at the lab?

He shakes his head, tries to unseat the not-memory, and gets up to give her back the cigarettes. She thanks him, and when she smiles, he notices a scar on her cheek.

“Allen!”

His heart leaps at the sound of his wife’s voice. He practically runs across the room and grabs her into his arms. “Mimi, I missed you,” he says, pressing a kiss to her hair. He didn’t remember enough to know it were true until he said it. “Oh, Mimi, let’s please go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t researched a single thing, so all mistakes are mine. Allen with psychometry is my new favorite trope: others have written it better! Come scream at me about these soft saucer boys on tumblr: stardust-and-serotonin or join us on our discord.


End file.
